The Kiss that Counts
by Panty-Hose-Galore
Summary: And Alfred would kiss the hurt away, even if it killed him.
1. Counterfeit

**A/N: Oh, heeeey, you guys! :D Long time, no see. My apologies go out to my last story...I'm sorry that I haven't been updating that one. But I'll eventually get around to it, I promise. Then, you may read my long list of excuses. ;3; So, this is another LietxAmerica fiction. I'm still obsessed with that pairing as usual. 3; I wish more people loved it though. -sigh.- I need to stop rambling. I must give a thanks to everyone helping me with this, I guess. Thank you to my editor, and darling sister, Amy. And thank you to my friend Alex who has roleplayed the plot out with me to help me sum up the character's feelings better. I like getting a good grasp on them. Thank you, loves! 3;**

**Pairing: Lithuania x America (Toris Lorinaitis x Alfred F. Jones)**

**Warnings:**

**Character death.**

**Foul language.**

**Angst.**

**Violence.**

**Fluff. 3;**

**And some smut. ;D**

**Disclaimer: Pft. Obviously, I don't have the intellegence to come up with something as amazing as Hetalia. /3;**

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Alfred F. Jones had seen _enough_.

No way—never in a million _years_—was he going to just let this slip by another day. The last straw had been pulled, and he had officially _snapped_.

It killed him inside everyday—oh, dear lord, how it did. Seeing his love, Toris Lorinaitis, just _follow_ behind Russia—behind that sick, vile bastard, like a little _toy_. Russia's toy. A toy he could play with however the fuck he wanted to. His bile churned spitefully in his gut, his heart pounding numbly in his ears as he bit down _hard_ on his lower lip, having to _force_ himself from just lunging across that table and squeezing the _life_ out of that Russian _bastard _with his bare hands.

The temptations made it even worse.

God dammit, did Toris _honestly_ think he could keep up this act any longer? Just _pretending_ like Russia didn't exist, _pretending_ like he didn't beat and terrify the living _shit_ out of him every day? What the hell did he think Alfred was? _Blind_? If anyone was blind, it was Toris himself. He was blinded by that annoying selflessness of his.

…

Oh, God. Alfred loved Toris so fucking much. It only made it _hundreds_ of times worse when he did _nothing_ about Russia. He was sick and fucking tired of Toris just denying the hurt, daring to _laugh_ too, and saying that it was fine with that fake, unconvincing smile of his.

_That fake smile_. Alfred _hated_ it. It was all because of Russia—Russia made him smile like that. Russia sucked all of the joy out of his boyfriend. The bastard ruined _everything_. True smiles were supposed to take up one's entire face, use every muscle. The expression mounted atop Lithuania's lips was the exact opposite. Only his mouth was used. And speaking of mouth, his lips had gotten colder too. His kisses. His touches.

Everything about him had gotten colder, changed. His cheeks were _constantly_ pallid, and his olive eyes were wide and frightful, like he was about to get attacked any minute. As though _Alfred _would attack him. His muscles were clenched tightly together, and goose bumps scattered his bruised and broken skin despite the warmth of the environment. Dark, dark circles had formed under his bloodshot eyes. He looked like he was dead.

Alfred wanted to—_needed_—to speak to Toris after the meeting was over. The other's forehead was beaded with a light sweat, and his hands were fidgeting and trembling madly. His eyes shot across the room from nation to nation, yet that sick smile was still plastered on his face. He was a mess.

And it was Alfred's job to help clean it up.

"Toris…" Alfred sighed, the instant the meeting was over. He had approached the Lithuanian from behind, who luckily, was alone at the moment. Russia had already shuffled out the door with the other two Baltic States. He winced as Lithuania practically jumped out of his own shoes at the sound of his name, shakily turning around to face the cause of that noise. Of course. The fake smile returned as soon as he registered it was Alfred.

"I know you're probably really busy today…But how are you?" Russia wouldn't notice his absence for only a _little_ bit right?

Toris shrugged, the sound that he made—supposedly a chuckle—obviously forged as the rest of him. "I'm okay. Alfred, are _you_ okay? You look a little red, like you're mad, or upset, or something…" He reached up to rest a hand on the other's cheek, caressing the skin with his thumb. Alfred sighed, knowing that he'd probably change the subject. Always worrying about others, that Toris was.

Alfred ignored that question, sighing deeply. He hated how much he cared about Toris…If he didn't, it wouldn't hurt this badly to know that the other was lying to him. "Toris…" he whispered, cerulean eyes staring deeply into the others, as if he could somehow find the answers in that forest of olive green. A color he'd grown to love, to cherish. "Please, I hate it when you lie to me." He gently picked up the hand that caressed his face, kissing a knuckle gently. "How is it _really_ like living with Ivan?"

He knew he'd touched something in Toris from that last sentence. The other probably hated lying to him as much as Alfred hated being lied to. "R-Really, it's fine," he insisted, stuttering slightly. "Ivan treats me…well."

Well? _Well?_ Alfred wanted to fucking scream. How the _hell_ could he think that Russia treated him "well." He was as thin as a toothpick! Not to mention the condition of the rest of his body…Tormented. There was no other way to describe it.

Without realizing it, his grip on Toris' hand had tightened greatly, the other obviously catching onto his anger. Gently withdrawing it, he cleared his throat, looking towards the door and back to Alfred. "Al, I love you so much…But I really have to go now."

The smaller nation stood up onto his tip-toes, kissing Alfred's warm lips with a chaste seal before darting out of sight. But, despite the care of that kiss, it was still just as cold.

And Alfred was going to fucking catch that cold on fire. Tonight. He was going to knock some fucking sense into his love's head.

Because he'd be damned if he ever saw that fake smile again.

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**;u;**

**Angry chapter, da?**

**Please, please, PLEAASE review. :'D**

**They make me happier than you can imagine. 3;**

**I...love you?**


	2. Photographs

**A/N: Alrighty, you guys. Here's chapter two. Not very long, but eh. XD; I hope you'll like it well enough. The intensity, ohoho~. ;D As far as this chapter goes, warnings are only for yaoi implications, gore, violence, abuse, and a little bit of foul language. Not as bad as the last chapter thoughh. ouo;; Pleeeeaseeee, review! :3**

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There was no more putting this off.

He needed facts. And _now_.

As much as Toris denied the abuse, and as much as Alfred _knew_ it was going on, he still was conscientious in knowing that it was wrong to assume. Someone who didn't know Alfred well would've laughed at that. Alfred F. Jones—the boy was _known_ for his impulsive acts, such as his assuming nature. But this was _Toris._ Toris was different. Toris was _worth_ his respect and attention. Hell, Alfred was probably the only one who_ really _respected him, too. His hands clenched at the thought, eyes staying fixed on the sidewalk ahead of him.

Before Toris had even run off, he _knew_ what he had to do. But…despite his anxiousness to end this, he knew that he had to hold it off for at least a couple hours.

And those hours had passed—In a daze, but they had passed.

_Now it was time._

The sun had barely begun to set among the trees, the sky taking up a pink-orange glow. And despite the fact that night had only just started to blanket this corrupt planet, his dirty blond locks of hair stuck to the back of his neck from sweat caused by the growing heat of the summer. Or, maybe, it was just his unsettled nerves, fears, and whatever mixed up feelings built up and bottled up in the American's heart.

Sooner than he had anticipated, he approached the Russian's large house, an evil aura seeming to come off of the building itself. No-where near as evil as the person that _lived_ in it, though. A chill ran down Alfred's spine, causing him to shudder. Right. He needed to do this promptly and successfully—and _hopefully _without getting caught.

Alfred slid his hand into his pocket, fingers grazing the edge of a slick, modern digital camera—excellent quality and compact size. There'd be no better way to prove to Toris that he knew. Smirking at the thought of finally getting the other to admit it, a rush of adrenaline coursed through him. Maybe Russia would _really_ go down—or at the very least—stop hurting his lover.

Gulping in a large amount of crisp summer air, he froze, straining his ears. If he listened close enough, he could hear a faint giggling. And, listening closer yet, he could even make out soft "twacking" sounds. Controlling his breathing, despite the difficulty that it was, he was able to clamp his gloved hands onto the window sill, black leather gripping conveniently to the surface. With a huff, he used his muscles to lift him up, toes finding a crevice in the side of his house. Good, _now_ he was sturdy.

Alfred almost instantly regretted seeing what he could now view.

Through the window, he could make out the small, shirtless and quivering frame of Lithuania, hunched over, knees tucked, and muscles clenched as a whip was repeatedly brought up high into the air by an amused Russian, eyes bright with malevolence as he lashed it back down onto the smaller boy's back. Toris whimpered softly in pain, blood splattering the floor, gashes accenting the pale flesh—tarnished beyond repair.

The sight left Alfred in awe, emotions spinning out of control. The horrifying rage had returned, at full force. He felt his cheeks grow red with anger, his nostrils flaring wide as his breathing became unsteady and sharp. A piercing sorrow jabbed his heart, the yearning to save Toris becoming almost unbearable. In his gut, it felt like his insides had been completely twisted up, like his heart had bounced up and knocked his brain loose. And Dear Lord, did his head hurt. It throbbed in his skull, like the pounding of a bass drum. How dare, how fucking _dare_ Ivan do something _that _sick to a human being—and _laugh_ about it? _He_ was the one who deserved to be smashed up into a bloody pulp, to have all of his limbs slowly cut off of his body—to dismember him _completely._ Alfred would have agreed to do that _any _day.

"_No, no, no, Alfred. Calm down. You have to stay low…The time isn't right yet. Do what you came here for. Get proof, and leave."_

The other voice in his head taunted him though—the temptations were becoming unmanageable. Almost.

His fingernails cut deep into the flesh of his palm, leaving small, stinging red crescents in the skin. _"Calm. The fuck. Down,"_ he ordered himself—forcefully having to restrain it. With a trembling hand, he snatched the camera out of his pocket, almost slipping off of the side of the house as he did so. Luckily, he regained his balance, clinging onto the sill desperately with his free hand.

Despite the shaking of his hand—violent almost—as Alfred tried to compose himself, he managed to snap a couple of photographs, even though he never _ever _would want to be reminded of such an experience again.

His work here had been finished.

With that, Alfred, strangely numb, lowered himself to the ground, pivoting around to flee.

He had some photographs to print.

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**Let me know what you think. I'll try to do better next time ;u; Chapter three should come out soon~, maybe tomorrow or in the next few days. Prolly tomorrow though. Ilu3;**

**REVIEW. 3**


	3. For You

As soon as Germany adjourned that meeting, Alfred knew that it was time.

His heart raced chaotically in his chest, and his palms were lightly daubed in sweat as he peeled back the corner of a manila folder, taking one last glance at the photographs. Those warped, sadistic photographs. Images of something no-one should _ever_ do to a human being_—ever_. The mere glimpse of them made Alfred's stomach twist in disgust and hatred, a wall building within his throat. It still was so difficult to register it into his mind that _his_ Lithuania was going through with such torture.

He'd rehearsed this all the night before. There was nothing that could go wrong—_nothing_ could stand in the hero's way. Nothing. No villain, no anti-Christ, no evil Russian bastard would set him off his goal. After printing the photographs, he'd spent the rest of the night at his desk, trying to do his paperwork—which was, of course, a failed attempt. All of the stress of being such a prosperous nation—the _United States of America!_—was building up on his shoulders, actually. So much paper work, so much drama; so much time consumption. It could drive anyone mad, really. But, no—Alfred was _the hero_. In addition, Toris was on the top of his priorities right now—_not_ his job.

Many nations filed out the doors, binders, papers, and notes clutched to their chests or dangling loosely in their hands, thus leaving Alfred alone. Or not. Alfred smirked. Of course, he knew Lithuania was always one of the last ones out. It was routine, really. He'd stiffly stand up from his seat, grunting softly, and inch his way out, trying not to stir any wounds, most likely. Or maybe he was just rigid from fear. Alfred wasn't sure which. Either way—now was his chance.

Seizing the opportunity, he jerked out of his seat, folder in his sweaty grasp, and caught up to Toris who was only a moment away from exiting the room. "Toris!" he called, gently grasping the other's shoulder to stop him from walking out. Lithuania jerked around with _the very same smile on his face._

That smile—the sick, fake smile—it stopped Alfred dead in his tracks, his breath hitching in his throat as he was reminded of how much he _hated _it. That was when he remembered what he was here for—what he was _really _here for. To let the _natural_ smile graze Toris' lips—to make those lips warm again. Meaningful. And there was only one way to do that. Get him out of the situation with Russia.

"_Alfred, what's wrong?"_

The voice snapped him out of his daze. That voice…somewhat naturally shaky, but sweet, despite the fear and nervousness that lie in the undertone. Alfred had been too distracted with his smile to notice that he had zoned off.

"Oh. Sorry. I was just thinking." He pulled back and studied the Lithuanian for a minute, taking in all of his features, anything that might be different. _Anything that might be different._ Ha. What a silly statement. _Everything_ was different about Toris now. Alfred rose a single brow, concerned. "Toris, I could ask you the same exact question."

There was a suffocating silence.

The other was obviously fighting for the right words to say. He nibbled on his lower lip slightly as though wracking his brain for a good enough lie, shifting his weight to his other foot. "What do you mean?"

Alfred let out a frustrating sigh at that answer, combing his fingers through his blond locks, stress straining on his face. "Toris, Toris, Toris…" he murmured, more to himself than to anyone else. He was…disappointed, really—no other way to describe it. "You never talk to me anymore. Something's going on. I _know_ something is. You can't just keep hiding it, because I _know_ what it is."

Toris' dull olive eyes widened a little bit, cheeks paling slightly—the mask cracking. However, he seemed to gather himself back together enough to come up with a response—a bit lame, but a response. "I..I don't know what you're talking about. Are you feeling well? Do you need me to take you home? Maybe you're catching that sickness that's been going around…" He desperately rested his hand on the other's forehead, his palm sticky and sickly white.

Alfred gently peeled away the hand from his forehead, giving it back to its owner. There came the frustrated sigh again. He needed to get this through to Toris—he was _going_ to. With a determined thought, he yanked open the manila envelope, ripping out a photo of last night's events. All the evidence was on that picture. All of the evidence that he needed. "You don't know what I'm talking about, do you? Toris, explain to me _this._ If nothing is wrong—why, _why_ did I see this last night?"

Toris looked as if he might faint. He jerked his hand out and snatched the photograph, gaping at it with eyes that imitated a deer seeing headlights. His lips trembled as he stuttered, "W-Where did you get these?"

Alfred didn't directly reply to that question, but instead went on from where he left off, fighting back the tears that had sprung to his eyes. "I-I can't take this anymore, Toris. God dammit, you have no idea how much I love you. This…I'm going to feel guilty the rest of my life if we don't get it to stop—Hell, I already _am_ going to feel guilty forever for letting it go on this long. It's stopping, Toris. _It's stopping."_

_This is the end to your pain, Toris, if I have any say in the matter. It's alright. It's okay. I'm here. The hero's here to save the day. No one will ever hurt you again. I'll protect you._

Toris snapped. All of the tears that must've been bottled up burst from his eyes, rolling down his cheeks in large, salty globs, their trails leaving stains. He staggered right into Alfred's chest, head finding itself squeezed up against his collar bone. The small body shook with sobs, gasping for breath every now and then.

Those tears told him everything. "Toris…" Alfred whispered, one arm wrapping around his waist, gentle enough not to disturb his wounds, as the other hand held his head, stroking the chestnut locks with care. "It's okay…" he cooed softly, comfortingly. "We're going to find a way to get you out of this mess, I promise it on my life, my honor. He's never going to touch another beautiful hair on your head again after tonight…" He leaned down and kissed the top of his head, inhaling his sweet, familiar scent.

The Lithuanian tilted his head up slightly, tears still streaming freely down his pale cheeks. "B-But _how_? You don't understand, Alfred…Russia is…Russia—"

"Shh, Toris," Alfred whispered, bringing a slender finger to the other's damp lips. He replaced the finger with his lips, kissing the other's softly and slowly. _Chastely._ His heart tore itself to pieces. They still felt…so cold. Had Russia completely frozen his lover? Had his torturous methods pushed him too far this time? He broke the kiss and brought his hands to cup the other's cheeks, skin soft as a sweet rose petal in the spring, and caressed it lovingly with his thumbs, deeply gazing into those stunning eyes. They were the most beautiful color he'd ever seen. A shade of green—specifically olive—with small specs of gold dancing around in the iris. He could still remember the way they looked when he was happy—the time they shone the brightest and most striking.

That's when the thought crossed his mind. _How_ was he going to save Toris? He'd never really thought about it…He'd been too stuck on the thought, '_I'm going to save Toris, I'm going to save Toris,'_ but he'd never gone farther than that. Oh, god…He couldn't just run in there and kick Russia's ass or demand of Toris' freedom. That could get his own country in deeper shit than it already was. Right. He couldn't get involved with Russia. _Yet_. He'd have to hold if off until absolutely necessary—which hopefully, it never would be. "I…Toris, the only way…You have to stand up to him. T-There's…that's the only way."

The small frame instantly ripped itself away, out of Alfred's grasp with a choking gasp. "W-What? What the hell are you asking me to—Alfred, i-it's not…it's…that's not possible. I can't. It's impossible. Dear Lord, I'll be _killed_!"

His heart was torn into a more million shards when those words left Toris' lips. Of course, ever persistent, he moved forward again, desperately reaching for Toris' hand. He stroked the skin gently, kissing each individual scar that haunted the flesh with twisted memories. "Toris…Never say that again. Never say that 'you can't.' If you…if you believe, _really_ believe, that you can do something, it's possible. The same goes for not believing. Would you rather deal with the burden of being abused by that vile bastard every day of your fucking life, or have it over with?" He paused, eyes glazing over in thought. "I…Think about it, love. It could be great…Waking up every morning in each other's arms—like the old days. _Relaxing, _Toris. Haven't you ever wanted to do that? You'd never have to worry about Ivan again…J-Just…just leave him. Leave him. Use my god damn phone if you must. Call the cops, call my house—_threaten_ to. You…You can do this. I have faith in you, Toris. You're the strongest person I know, I swear." He pressed his phone into the other's grasp.

"I-I…Alfred, you're insane," he blubbered, falling into his arms again. He was silent for a long moment, the only sound coming from him, shaky, uncertain breaths. At last he straightened up slightly, and his gleaming eyes, so full of fear, but _hopeful _met Alfred's…

"_For you."_

And Alfred smiled.


	4. A Promise

**AN: So, yeah. I'm really sorry that these have been coming in pretty late. /: It's the summer, so, if the chapters come in at weird, unexpected times(either really early or really late), then forgive me. A lot is going on, you see. I really appreciate the reviews that I've been getting and I hope to get more. Thank you!**

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_A promise._

A powerful spell bound between two people. A ribbon that ties two hearts together. A trust. Something that should never be broken, especially between two lovers. Something that was all too _often _broken, by the same ones who promised to always be there.

Promises.

"_For you._"

Those two words rang through Toris' ears like a broken record as he stood frozen in front of Russia's doorstep, a single balled fist inches away from the hardwood as he debated on knocking. Hope was beginning to leave him, to slip through his slender fingers like fine grains of sand. The freshly built sandcastle was beginning to crumble from the pressure; the waves crashed onto the shore viciously, tearing and breaking away at anything in its path. Wearing away at his already mostly dissolved resolve and courage.

Was what Alfred said really true? Maybe he just imagined it all. It just…it just didn't seem real, didn't seem even physically _possible_ to just…_leave_ Russia. Things weren't that simple. Things were never that simple. Wouldn't there be some sort of price to be paid in order to receive something so…unbelievable? Freedom. There was _always_ a price to freedom. Alfred repeated it one too many times.

"'_Give me liberty, or give me death!'"_

Alfred would constantly chant those words, his head high and blue eyes full of the pride of a "True-American-Hero."

_Liberty. _

_Death._

Another one of those blunt words that stopped Toris in his tracks. What if _that_ was the price he was destined to pay if he dared to escape?

Maybe…maybe it was all in his head. Maybe, he'd been imagining it all along. The conversation with Alfred. The plan. _The promise_.

…

No, that wasn't true. Toris slid his trembling hands to where his pockets were, feeling the cool, smooth exterior of a cell phone graze his fingertips. Alfred's cell phone. _This promise was real._

A sick knot of fear twisted and churned in his gut, a lump building itself like a wall in his throat. His eyes stung, but he forced back the anxious tears, knowing that crying wouldn't solve anything. Crying wouldn't bring Russia to the end, or even out of his life. Crying wouldn't give him an eternity to spend with his one and true love, America. _Toris_ had to be the one to solve this problem, not anyone else. And that's what he was going to do, whether he liked it or not.

Lithuania had never actually been late home before, although "home" was probably not the best way to describe Russia's house. A home was warm and loving, cozy and inviting. Not…not this. That was beside the point, though. The point was: Toris hadn't a clue how Ivan would react. Not _knowing_ what would happen was what _really_ scared Toris.

"_For you."_

Those words again. They haunted Toris once more, reminding him of what he was here for.

"For you, Alfred," he whispered, biting down on his lip. He clenched his eyes tightly shut, the darkness only slightly soothing, and took three deep, long breaths, hoping to ease his nerves. Finally, when he was able to soothe himself a bit, he opened his eyes and took in a deep, sharp breath, quickly knocking on the door before he changed his mind yet again.

There was no turning back now.

_Give me liberty or give me death, indeed. _

The door, to Lithuania's surprise, swung open only moments after he had knocked, revealing a tall, bulky Russian whom towered over him. Having expected his expression to be alight with anger, Toris was taken aback to see that he was actually…smiling. Innocently and sweetly. That guy…he…you never _really_ knew what he was thinking. It was always…concealed with a mask, almost like his own. But this was a _different_ kind of mask. This was one you had to be afraid of.

"Toris~! I was afraid you'd _never_ come home. Now, Little Liet must be sleepy, so, off to bed~!" He said these words with almost…_care_ in his voice. There was more to it than this. There had to be. Russia didn't just…send people off to bed after they broke one of his rules, unless he planned on doing something to them in their sleep. That was unlikely, though, considering Ivan enjoyed inflicting the most pain possible on a person, and that'd be accomplished much better if they were conscious.

Toris opened his mouth to speak, but closed it again, deciding to go along with this. Perhaps…just perhaps…Ivan had realized his faults in torturing someone. "I…Okay." He stuffed his hands deep into his pockets and kept his head down as he shuffled towards the stairs, still completely flustered. He would…he would just get away some other time then.

Suddenly—_ohgod_.

He had been right from the start, the very fucking start. It was never this easy. Never. The word easy wasn't even _in_ Ivan's vocabulary.

"_But wait."_

Those two words cut through the silence like a knife on butter, the frail man's feet suddenly seeming to be glued to the cold floor below him.

"Y-Yes, Mr. Russia, sir?" he stuttered, daring himself to turn around. There, Russia stood, an amused smirk mounting his round, childish features. His head was tilted slightly to the side, amethyst eyes glinting in the dim light of the entrance hall.

"Don't think I'm going to let slip what you've done, Liet~." He smirked lightly, taking a small step forward, a daring step forward. "You've broken one of the few rules that I have. I only ask for a _few_ small things in turn for a lovely roof over your ungrateful head. And what do you do? Completely disrespect me. I'm afraid, punishment will indeed be necessary, love~." His words were in no more than a soft, taunting whisper, bantering with the poor boy.

The relief that had once spread through the Lithuanian like heroine had now completely disappeared in only a few split seconds. It had been replaced with the fear again—the disgusting, churning and twisting gut like a convulsing rat until the poison finally sunk in.

But then, he remembered.

He remembered those two words in which he had been stressing over ever since he let them slip from his lips.

"_For you."_

A promise.

His voice came out weaker than he had willed it to be. He sounded ages younger than he really was. Innocent. _Scared. _"I…I don't think that's really necessary, Ivan," he managed, a chill going down his spine as the taller man loomed closer, shadow growing over the small boy's gentle frame.

"Oh, it's _not_, is it?" he mocked, tracing his finger down the other's pale cheek, soft as a clean sheet, gently blowing in the spring wind on its hanger. It was obvious that Ivan could see the fear bleeding from Toris' eyes, thus provoking him farther. Deviously, he let his fingers trail farther down, tracing his neck and finally resting on his wrist. They coiled around the arm like snakes, tightening their grip. He had full control, and he could do anything that he pleased with the small nation by this point. Ivan held the supremacy in this.

Toris numbly took a staggering step backwards, the need to escape increasing, but the bravery to do so decreasing. It was like a never ending roller coaster of emotions. Now, what he needed most was the adrenaline. If he had that, then maybe the problem would solve itself—maybe. But unlikely. And even if he hadn't the adrenaline, he still needed to try.

He'd made a promise.

Wincing at the tightening grip on his wrist, Toris turned his head slightly away, afraid to see that hint of malevolence in the other's eyes as if he were Medusa. "I…" He began, swallowing. He let out a deep, shaky breath, trying to rid, or at least hide, the nervousness that trembled in his voice. Turning his head back to the bulky Russian, he _courageously _spoke, the anxiety in his voice gone. "I…I can't _take_ this anymore, Ivan. I'm leaving, and I'm leaving tonight. I don't care what you _do_; I don't care what you _say._ Because…it just isn't right, Ivan. None of this. And it never has been. You say that…you say that you give me a home, but this is _not_ a home. And it never will be. I don't…I don't want this, Ivan. I don't want this for my brothers, and I don't want this for myself." Tears had sprung into his brilliant green eyes, but he wouldn't—_couldn't_ just stop there.

Lithuania's voice had risen, not only an octave, but in volume, too. He had started shaking again, but this time, it was in anger, not fear. "I won't, I won't, I _won't_! I'm leaving! Right _now!_" He tried to rip away, but found his wrist was still in the suffocating grasp of Russia.

"You want to leave, da?" Russia breathed, an uncharacteristic growl leaving him. He yanked the Lithuanian close to him, their bodies clashing violently. Eyes narrowed, he jerked the wrist backwards, a sickening snap echoing through the air, followed by an earsplitting shriek.

A sharp, burning pain exploded up his arm, causing him to belt over slightly, groaning. He shouldn't have even tried…It…it wouldn't be worth it...

"_Try."_

An image of Alfred pierced through his mind like gunshot, his voice ringing through his ears. A hopeful voice. A tender voice. Although only a distorted illusion in his head, it gave him the slightest flickering of strength.

But Ivan didn't stop. He flung the Lithuanian onto the ground, face growing beat red. His shoe met the boy's back at full force, smirking as the other let out a soft cry. However, Toris wasn't about to give up just yet. He grunted as he struggled to get to his feet, only to topple down again, whimpering in anguish.

"Go." Russia's eyes were narrowed into thin slits, nostrils flaring slightly as he glowered at Toris. Ivan didn't flinch. He just stood there like a statue, doing no more.

_This _was a reaction Toris hadn't been expecting. He could…he could hardly believe his ears. It…that was a completely…uncharacteristic thing of Ivan to do. When Toris didn't move, Ivan gave him another kick, harder this time.

"I said '_go_,' Toris!" he screamed. "Since you want to go so badly, just _leave_! You _know_ I'll be back, but just _go!_"

_What the…_Toris, tears streaming down his pallid cheeks, scrambled to his feet, letting out a choked sob. He bit down on his lower lip and staggered out the door, clutching his wrist to his chest.

The cool, evening breeze ruffled his brunette locks as he inhaled a scent of the outdoors.

_The sweet scent of freedom._

Toris Lorinaitis was _free._

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**Corniness FTW? :3**

**Reviewww~!**


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